


shape of my love

by 99izm



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art Major! Jihoon, Fluff, M/M, Math Major! Woojin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-15 11:19:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13029930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99izm/pseuds/99izm
Summary: Woojin doesn't expect the ride of his life when he accidentally spills coffee over a stranger's shirt.





	shape of my love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [junew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/junew/gifts).



> Dear Faith, I hope that I managed to do justice to your prompt, and I hope that you enjoy!

Being friends with Daehwi means bad decisions, and Woojin thinks that he definitely shouldn’t have listened to Daehwi—shouldn’t have agreed to binge watching Suits together for the whole night. It’s hard to say “no” to Daehwi. If Woojin had rejected him,, Daehwi would have whined and pouted and he would’ve become so annoying that Woojin would’ve gotten a headache—so he said yes and he’s facing the consequences now. He had forgotten that he had a morning lecture, only remembering its existence when his alarm rang at 7am (thank god for weekly alarms), and he had jolted out of bed.

One hour of sleep is  _ never  _ enough, and it is the worst when it’s a philosophy lecture—why the  _ fuck  _ would a philosophy lecture be scheduled at 9am in the morning? Woojin contemplates skipping the lecture, but he thinks of how he wouldn’t understand anything if he doesn’t go, so he drags himself to the shower, in hopes that a cold shower would wake him up.

Woojin swears that he’s going to make Daehwi pay when he’s back from class.

There’s twenty minutes left to class, and Woojin wonders if he’ll be able to make it in time to grab a cup of piping hot coffee (caffeine is bad, but Woojin  _ needs  _ it) before class starts.  _ Ugh, fuck it,  _ Woojin thinks, and he heads for the Starbucks near the Arts department.

Starbucks is surprisingly empty for the time of the day. Woojin heads straight for the counter where the counter staff, Minhyun-hyung smiles at him. It’s always Minhyun-hyung in the mornings, and Woojin’s starting to wonder if Minhyun-hyung ever sleeps. “A venti hot latte, extra shot?”

“Yeah,” Woojin scratches the back of his head before he takes out his card to make payment. “It’s always the same.”

“Well, it makes it quicker for me to get to your order,” Minhyun-hyung replies, writing down his order onto a cup, then swiping Woojin’s card across the machine so that the payment is charged. “Have a good day, Woojin-ah.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Woojin smiles at him. He would love to have a longer conversation with Minhyun-hyung—something about Minhyun-hyung is simply very comforting, just like going back to Busan for a home-cooked meal after months of slaving away in Seoul. He slides to the side, nearer to where customers usually pick up their orders. It’s a while more before his latte is prepared, so he takes the chance to glance around the store. It’s quiet and serene, and when he breathes in the smell of coffee, he feels a part of him relax, and the anger from before dissipates.

“A hot venti latte for Woojin,” the other staff, Jaehwan-hyung calls out. Jaehwan-hyung is usually boisterous, always teasing Minhyun-hyung from the few times that they there are less people in the cafe (and Woojin is surprisingly, there) but he’s warm and nice. Woojin smiles gratefully at him and grabs his coffee. But when he looks down to take a look at his watch, he feels the serenity from before shatter into pieces as he realises that there’s only five more minutes to class— _ how the fuck is he going to get to the Mathematics department in five minutes?! _

 

 

 

There’s only panic that is coursing through his brain: shit, shit _ , shit _ and he’s rushing, so he doesn’t realise that there’s someone who’s running in the opposite direction as he is. And he collides into him. The force was sudden, Woojin could barely hold onto his paper cup and the next thing that he comprehends is the sound of the other person cursing as the entirety of their front was covered in hot coffee.

“Shit,  _ shit,  _ I’m so sorry!” Woojin tries to apologise, as the boy in front of him jerked backwards to have a better look at the damage that was done.

“Ugh,  _ and  _ it’s my favourite shirt,” the cute guy whines, but he doesn’t look as angry as Woojin thought he would be. He looks up to meet eyes with Woojin, and Woojin is utterly confused because there are fucking sparkles in his brown eyes and he looks  _ dazzling _ . It doesn’t help that his shirt is the ugliest mustard yellow he has ever seen—because who the fuck even looks  _ good  _ in yellow?!

But he remembers that he will actually be late for class at this rate, so he tries to make amends, “Hey,  _ um,  _ I’m really sorry for spilling coffee on your shirt. Maybe I could do something to make up for it?”

“Sure,” The reply is fast and instant, and  _ why the fuck are his eyes still so sparkly _ ? Woojin thinks that he’s starting to get blind from the sheer brightness of them. “I’m Park Jihoon,” and he extends a hand out.

Woojin shakes his hand and he introduces himself, “I’m Park Woojin.”

“No worries about the coffee,” Jihoon gives him a reassuring smile, and Woojin  _ is  _ really confused, because wouldn’t the average person be screaming at him already? Not to mention, this stranger—Jihoon—had mentioned that it was his  _ favourite shirt.  _ Woojin feels the guilt prickling at him as Jihoon continues, “Give me your Kakao ID and I’ll text you what you can do to make up to me.”

“It’s parkchamsae,” Woojin manages to utter out, and  _ fuck,  _ he’s definitely already late—and he wonders if he should even bother to head for class. But then again, he thinks that he needs a reason, an excuse to get out of this situation so he says, “Um, I actually have a class that started, so if you don’t mind—“

“Ah, no problem,” Jihoon waves him off after tapping on his phone for a while. “I just sent you a friend request. Make sure to accept it!”

Woojin nods, and he takes it as his cue to get the fuck to class. He doesn’t look back, not when those sparkling eyes and ugly yellow shirt are still embedded in the back of his brain.

 

—

 

When he arrives at his lecture venue, he’s surprised to find out that he isn’t as late as he thought he was. Only fifteen minutes—still acceptable, in Woojin’s books. Thankfully, there  _ is  _ a back door to the lecture theatre, so he manages to sneak into one of the back rows of the lecture hall, and find a random spot because compulsory modules suck, and he doesn’t have any friends anyway. He takes out his laptop, thinking that it’d be good if he took down some notes but five minutes later, he’s already opening up Facebook and scrolling through it mindlessly.

It’s not that he has anything against philosophy (okay,  _ fine _ , maybe he does), but it just isn’t his thing. He almost forgets that what happened in the morning, until he’s trying to reach out to the right of his laptop but there isn’t any paper cup there. He groans, and he thinks that he’s really going to fall asleep in this lecture at this rate, and then his grades will suffer, and then he’s going to fail this module, and then he’s going to have to repeat this module again come next semester. Life is a series of bad decisions, Woojin thinks.

And there’s a sudden  _ Ping  _ that resounds from his laptop, and Woojin feels his entire face burn in embarrassment as the rest of the student population in the lecture venue turn to look at which idiot didn’t mute their computer, and left their chatting application open. The yellow notification stares at him traitorously—and the very way the application bounces up and down makes him want to dig a hole and bury himself in it; and he jams his finger on the mute button of his laptop. When he opens the application, however, he’s surprised to see that it’s a message from a stranger— _ the  _ stranger that he accidentally spilled a cup of coffee over.

> **Jihoon:** Hello! This is Jihoon!
> 
> **Jihoon:** Um, if you don’t remember, I’m the guy who you spilled coffee over this morning…
> 
> **Woojin:** Hi!
> 
> **Woojin:** Yes, I remember. I’m really sorry… I hope you’re not angry, since you did mention that it’s your favourite shirt
> 
> **Jihoon:** Don’t worry about it!
> 
> **Jihoon:** I can always get it washed again or something
> 
> **Jihoon:** But anyway, you promised me a favour right?
> 
> **Woojin:** Yeah, of course!
> 
> **Woojin:** Anything
> 
> **Jihoon:** Please be my model.

Wait, what?  _ A model?  _ Woojin knows that he isn’t very good at languages (which was why numbers appealed more to him), but he thinks that he knows what Jihoon is asking him to be. A model? That just sounds absolutely ridiculous to him. He was expecting  _ anything  _ out from this beautiful stranger: coffee runs, printing notes, doing some errands—but  _ being a model _ ? He doesn’t even know what to say or how to react, even.

> **Jihoon:** I know it might sound like a weird request
> 
> **Jihoon:** It’s just that I have a compulsory painting class this semester and we need to paint live portrait
> 
> **Jihoon:** and you said that you’d do anything to make up to me
> 
> **Woojin:** Yeah, yeah, sure
> 
> **Woojin:** It’s just that
> 
> **Woojin:** No one has ever asked me to be a model before, you know?
> 
> **Jihoon:** It’ll be fine! :)

Woojin doesn’t realise that he’s been staring at his screen for a moment too long, until Jihoon’s sending him a flurry of messages, even before he could send a reply:

> **Jihoon:** Oh
> 
> **Jihoon:** well if you don’t want to do it, it’s fine 
> 
> **Jihoon:** i mean like i don’t want to force you into doing it too

But he thinks of how it sounds like it could be fun, and he  _ does  _ want to make it up to Jihoon, to the beautiful stranger, so he’s typing a reply even before his brain can process it:

> **Woojin:** Sure, I’ll do it.
> 
> **Woojin:** Just let me know when you need me.
> 
> **Jihoon:** asdhadhasdadkas 
> 
> **Jihoon:** pls ignore that but omfg thank you so much
> 
> **Jihoon:** you’re a life saviour
> 
> **Jihoon:** I’ll be in Studio Room 5-2 almost the rest of the day, so you can just hit me up anytime!!
> 
> **Woojin:** Sure. :) I’ll drop by once my class ends.

And it’s also now that he realises that he hadn’t quite been listening to the contents of the lecture. Well,  _ fuck. _

 

—

 

It takes Woojin a while to find where Studio Room 5-2 is at, considering that he’s a Math major and he’d have no reason to visit the Arts building. And Woojin’s painfully shy, so painfully shy that he finds it hard to ask a random passerby for directions, so he settles for looking at the (very unhelpful) map of the building on his phone.

He finally manages to find Studio Room 5-2 though, located at the end of Level 5. He should have figured that it was on Level 5 from the name of the room, or that he could’ve asked Jihoon to help him. But Jihoon’s a stranger,  _ still, _ and Woojin doesn’t know how to approach him. 

He’s standing at the door to Studio Room 5-2, and he doesn’t know why his heart is beating so painfully quickly against his chest. He’s in jitters, from the nervousness and the fact that he’d be going into this  _ whole thing  _ blind, without knowing what to expect. He takes a deep breath, hand on the handle of the door and with a final exhale, he opens the door.

The stench of paint is what greets him first. It’s pungent and Woojin is reminded of how he hated arts class back when he had compulsory art classes. He takes a glimpse around the room, scanning in and his eyes land on the blonde who’s sitting in the middle of the room, staring intently at the apple that’s displayed several meters in front of him. 

Woojin feels almost bad to interrupt him when he’s in a state of concentration, but he clears his throat when he walks up to Jihoon, “Hi.”

Jihoon jerks back, and it causes his paintbrush to jerk as well—and there’s an unsightly red line that escapes the outline of the apple. Woojin feels the guilt seeping into him as Jihoon sighs, but Jihoon’s quick to reassure him, “Hi! It’s alright. I could fix it up later.”

“I’m sorry,” Woojin apologises with a bow. 

Jihoon shakes his head, “It’s okay. I should’ve noticed when you came in.”

God, it should be illegal for Jihoon’s eyes to sparkle so beautifully. They almost feel like mirrors, reflecting the sunlight that filters through the windows of the studio. 

He’s looking down at the floor from where he’s sitting down in front of the easel, and there’s a faint pink that’s dusting his cheeks. Woojin finds his heart clenching at the sight. “Thank you for agreeing to be my model.”

It’s strange how Woojin’s voice remains so even, even though he feels the butterflies rumbling within his stomach. “It’s okay, I  _ did  _ spill the coffee over you.”

Jihoon laughs at that, and  _ what the hell _ , why does he even have sweater paws? “Alright, alright, just leave your bag at the side and we can get started."

  
  
  
  
  


It’s a strange feeling to remain still as a dancer, who’s too used to moving around. Woojin wonders if his constant fidgeting is somewhat of a distraction to Jihoon, but if it is, Jihoon doesn’t say anything. He merely concentrates on outlining what he wants to paint, and there’s that glint of concentration and determination that Woojin can’t find it within him to break.

Jihoon had reminded him that he was free to move about if his limbs felt dead, but Woojin tries his best to remain as still as possible.

He doesn’t quite notice the hours ticking by, until the sunlight is no longer streaming into the studio. It’s getting darker, the sun setting into the night and that makes Jihoon stretch out the kinks in his back, let out a huge sigh and say, “I think that’s all for today.”

Woojin doesn’t remember Jihoon taking up the paint brush or opening paint bottles. So as he’s stretching his already-dead muscles, he asks, “You’re not done, are you?”

Jihoon gives him a look. “You didn’t think that I’d be done in a day, did you. Inspiration’s a fickle bitch, you know. I have to be in the  _ mood  _ to paint.”

“Um,” Woojin blinks. He know that it isn’t easy, that art isn’t completed in a day’s work. But he also doesn’t really know much about art, of what it takes to produce a good art piece. He finds himself walking towards Jihoon’s board, to have a look of what kind of art the past few hours have produced, only to gasp in shock at the sheer…  _ well, _ atrocity of it. 

And he finds the words escaping faster than he can process it, “This looks like shit.”

Woojin wouldn’t say that he’s eloquent when it comes to appreciating the arts, but he has seen enough paintings online and in movies to know who are the famous painters in the world. He knows of the paintings of sunflowers and the one with the starry skies. So, there’s a certain kind of expectation that he has towards Jihoon’s work, considering the way he carried himself to resemble someone who knew what he was doing, and prided himself in his work. 

It’s why Woojin doesn’t escape to see the trainwreck of lines when he peers over at Jihoon’s board. It should resemble a pair of eyes, but Woojin isn’t quite sure if it’s meant to be his eyebags (from the lack of sleep) or his actual eyes. The lines are disjointed all over and Woojin doesn’t recognise himself. Not one bit.

Jihoon stares at him. Evidently, those aren’t really the kind of words that you’d like to say to someone who you’ve just met, much more, someone you met  _ because  _ you spilled coffee over them earlier in the day. 

“Um, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Woojin tries to make up for it when Jihoon doesn’t move from where he’s sitting, doesn’t say anything ever since he’s said the words.

But Jihoon’s next words surprise him, as he huffs and crosses his arms, “I’m not even a Fine Arts major!”

“What,” Woojin deadpans. “Then why are you even  _ painting _ ?”

Jihoon lets out a deep sigh, and Woojin thinks that he can vaguely see the way Jihoon ages slightly from it. “I’m a pottery major. I have other compulsory electives, which happens to be the one thing I suck at—painting.”

Woojin stares at Jihoon, wondering if he should feel pity or laugh at Jihoon’s plight. Not that his life is much better, for he  _ also  _ has to sit in Philosophy class and wonder what the fuck he’s doing there. He’d always thought that art majors could do whatever they wanted to do, but apparently not.

Jihoon points accusingly at him, “Don’t you dare laugh!”

“But I’m not laughing!” Woojin mentally thanks himself for managing to stifle the laughter.

“I can see right through you,” Jihoon replies, and then he’s sighing again. But this time, there’s a vague sense of insecurity that seeps through his voice, and Woojin can feel the guilt creeping its way in. “I know I’m bad at it but—”

It’s strange, Woojin thinks, for him to feel so attached to someone he has just met. The day seems almost too dreamlike to be true: from the way he had run into Jihoon, to Jihoon asking him to be his model, and now, they are acting as if they were more than just strangers. Friendship is a funny thing, and Woojin doesn’t quite know how to define the lines between friends and acquaintances.

“It’s okay,” Woojin reaches out to pat Jihoon’s shoulder. Jihoon stiffens under his touch, and Woojin retracts his hand. Ok, no physical contact,  _ noted _ . “I agreed  to be your model afterall. I’ll stick to my promise.”

Jihoon visibly brightens at that and Woojin feels his heart skipping a beat.  _ What. _ “Really?”

“Yeah,” Woojin nods. It feels a bit too hasty, too quick, but Jihoon doesn’t say anything so Woojin brushes the thought away. 

“Thank you,” Jihoon smiles at him. It reminds Woojin of the warmth of the sun on an autumn day, when you’ve forgotten to bring a jacket and the sun’s rays hit your bare skin. “It really means a lot.”

Woojin tries to return a smile.

He wonders what Daehwi would say if he told him about what happened today.

 

—

 

The next time that they meet is on a Friday.

Daehwi had laughed at him after Woojin told him what happened between him and Jihoon. But he had also finished off with an encouraging smile, a warm pat on the shoulder and Woojin could sense his pride and happiness at Woojin being able to meet someone outside from their existing circle of friends.

It wasn’t even because Woojin was anti-social, or that he didn’t have friends. He  _ does  _ have his friends from the dance team: Daniel-hyung, Seongwoo-hyung, Minhyun-hyung, and also his tightly-knit group of friends: Daehwi, Youngmin-hyung and Donghyun-hyung. It’s just that he preferred to be with people who he already knew, and he finds it hard to interact with people who he barely knows. It’s awkward and stifling, and small talk only makes it more suffocating.

So he likes to stick with the people he’s familiar with , which is why it’s strange that he’s able to feel so at ease with Jihoon. 

He’s a little earlier than the time  he’s supposed to meet Jihoon at. He wonders if he should grab a cup of coffee, just to keep him occupied while he’s posing. 

> **Woojin:** hey, do you want coffee?
> 
> **Jihoon:** oh mY GOD YOU’RE MY SAVIOUR
> 
> **Jihoon:** could you help me get a venti iced americano, extra shot?? 
> 
> **Jihoon:** pls pour some sugar syrup into too!! i’ll pay you

Woojin finds himself raising an eyebrow at Jihoon’s own order. Americano, and an extra shot? That sounds like death in a single cup, what even. But he quickly texts back a  _ sure  _ as he’s heading towards Starbucks.

When Woojin enters Starbucks, Minhyun-hyung is at the counter and Woojin vaguely wonders if Minhyun-hyung even knows what it means to take a break. Just because he’s always there whenever Woojin needs his coffee, no matter the time of the day. 

“Woojinnie!” Minhyun-hyung smiles at him when it’s his turn at the counter. “Same order?”

He’s about to say yes, but he thinks of caffeine jitters and how he  _ might  _ turn out to be as he’s posing for Jihoon, and it seems a little too dangerous for him to get an extra shot. So he shakes his head, and he says, “I’ll just grab a regular hot latte today. And also, a venti iced americano with extra shot.”

“Americano?” Minhyun-hyung raises an eyebrow. There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes as he is writing down Woojin’s order, and Woojin finds himself scratching at the side of his face.

“Yeah,” Woojin nods. “I’m getting it for a friend.”

“Thought so,” Minhyun-hyung smiles, ringing the register as he slides the cups over to where Sungwoon-hyung’s handling the coffee machine. “You never liked Americano, after all!”

It’s true. There’s something about the lack of milk in an Americano that makes it hard for Woojin to stomach. It just comes across to be bean water, if there weren’t for the milk like a latte would have. Woojin laughs, and it sounds awkward to his ears, but he’s handing the cash over to Minhyun-hyung.

“I hope you have a good time with your friend,” Minhyun-hyung says as he returns the change, before Woojin walks away.

_ Friend,  _ huh.

He thinks of sparkly eyes and sweater paws, and well, it’s hard not for the smile to find its way onto his face.

  
  
  
  
  


Woojin thinks that he’s a pretty decent guy because he learns from his mistakes.

So, this time, he only says “Hello, here you go” when Jihoon has taken an eye off his painting to scratch at the back of his head in frustration. 

“My saviour,” Jihoon sobs, taking the cup of iced americano gratefully from Woojin’s hands. He pokes the straw almost immediately and Woojin hopes that he had added enough sugar syrup.  _ Some  _ sugar syrup is hard for Woojin, he realises, after he stared at the cup of Americano for way too long until his arms felt like they were vaguely on the edge of aching. 

“Perfect,” Jihoon grins at him. 

“That’s great,” Woojin nods, settling his cup of coffee by his chair. At least he’d have something to accompany him over the next few hours. “I was debating how much sugar I’d need to put in.”

“Well,” Jihoon pretends to muse. “It’s perfect,  _ really _ . I give you 100 points for effort.”

“Thanks,” Woojin snorts. Jihoon’s changing his boards, to the one of  _ him,  _ supposedly. Woojin still doesn’t see himself in it, but he swallows the thought. Jihoon lets it sit on his easel, and this time, he does have some paint brushes and paint bottles at his side.

And Jihoon gives him a knowing look, “I’m painting.”

“Looking forward to the outcome,” Woojin replies. Jihoon rolls his eyes at that, and he wonders how sarcastic he might have come across to be. 

  
  
  
  
  


It’s hours later when Jihoon finally declares that he’s done for the day.

Now that colour has been added, the painting does look better than the outline, Woojin supposes. Woojin  _ still  _ can’t quite make out his features, but Jihoon only squints at him, “It’s  _ abstract act,  _ you doofus.”

Woojin doesn’t even know if Jihoon’s lying or not, considering that he really doesn’t know anything about art. When he looks out of the window, it’s already dark out, and he wonders what he should have for dinner.

But as he’s having that thought, there’s a grumble that sounds from his side. When he turns over, Jihoon has one hand clutching onto his stomach, and another holding onto the empty cup of coffee. There’s a faint pink that spreads across his cheeks, while he tries to break into a small smile.

It only strikes Woojin now that Jihoon had probably spent hours in the studio before his arrival. It’s been hours since Woojin came into the studio, and Jihoon had most likely been drinking Americano on an empty stomach. It’s not to say that Woojin is stellar at taking care of himself, and making sure that he has a balanced diet throughout the day (and well, the semester), but he knows that he’s got to eat when he has to.

So he squints at Jihoon, “When was the last time you ate?”

Jihoon purses his lips together, and his eyebrows scrunch up together. When it seems like he’s finally reached an answer, he brightens up and he supplies, “Maybe… the Egg McMuffin from breakfast?”

Woojin tries to resist the urge to smack his palm against his forehead. The Egg McMuffin must have already dissolved into nothing by now, and Woojin pulls Jihoon out of the studio together. 

He’s not sure if he’s being too close for comfort, so he lets go of his grip on Jihoon’s arm. But Woojin stares straight into Jihoon’s eyes as he insists, “We’re going out for dinner.”

“And you are not going to say  _ no _ .”

  
  
  
  
  


It’s good that it’s still seven-ish, and that means that there are plenty of restaurants that are still open around their campus. Woojin brings him to the family restaurant that he’s been eating at ever since he moved into college, where the  _ ahjumma  _ already recognises him and makes sure to give him an extra serving of meat whenever he comes by.

The food isn’t the most fantastic meal out there, but there’s something about the way  _ ahjumma  _ prepares the food that reminds him of warmth and love, of tender touches that goes into the cooking that can’t quite be replicated in other restaurants in Seoul.  _ Ahjumma  _ beams when she sees Woojin coming into the restaurant, “Woojinnie! It’s been so long!”

“Yeah,” Woojin feels almost apologetic, now that  _ ahjumma  _ has mentioned it. It has really been some time since he last visited, ever since he went back to Busan over summer break. “But I’m here now!”

“And you brought a friend along!”  _ Ahjumma  _ says, ruffling his hair. And Woojin can’t help the smile from growing as he watches how Jihoon turns redder from the attention. He nods, shuffling anxiously behind Woojin, as if he was a small child who was hiding behind the dominating figure of his mother.

_ Ahjumma  _ simply smiles at the side, and she ushers them to a nearby table. They settle down, and Woojin points out the food that he likes, “The  _ jjigaes  _ are really good.  _ Ahjumma  _ also gives a lot of meat.”

“You seem really close to her,” Jihoon remarks. He isn’t staring at Woojin, but at the menu that’s displayed in front of them.

“Yeah,” Woojin nods. “I’ve been eating here since I moved from Busan to Seoul.”

“Oh?” Jihoon looks up to raise a single eyebrow. “You’re from Busan?”

Woojin scratches at the side of his face. “Yeah, I worked really hard to get rid of my  _ satoori _ .”

But Jihoon’s smiling at him, and he says, “I was from Masan too.”

“Wow,” Woojin says. “That means our  _ satoori _ ’s quite similar, huh.”

Jihoon nods, and there’s a brief smile that surfaces. “I think I’ll get the  _ sundubu jjigae _ .”

_ Oh?  _ That’s also Woojin’s favourite, really. He wonders if he should tell Jihoon that it’s his favourite too, but there’s something about it that comes across to be awkward small talk, that there’s nothing between them to talk about, that they have to resort to such topics. So Woojin swallows the words, and he calls  _ ahjumma  _ over to order two bowls of  _ sundubu jjigae _ .

“Alright,”  _ Ahjumma  _ smiles. “Two  _ sundubu jjigae,  _ coming right up!”

When she leaves, Jihoon’s resting his face on his two palms that have been propped up on the table. “You like  _ sundubu jjigae  _ too?”

“Yeah,” Woojin smiles. “It was what my mom loved to make, so it kinda grew on me, I guess.”

Awkward silence washes upon them after Woojin replies. Woojin doesn’t quite know what to say, as he finds himself getting distracted by the way Jihoon’s shaking his leg under the table. A part of Woojin wishes that he had part of Daehwi’s outgoing personality, so that he would be able to keep the conversation going before it sours. It’s hard for him to think of what to say without thinking of it to be small talk, but he takes a deep breath and well, maybe he could ask Jihoon something more about his major or something? Well, anything to get the awkward silence out of the way. 

“Um—” 

“Hey—”

Woojin blinks at how the both of them had raised their voices at the same time, and he hurriedly adds a “You first!” just as Jihoon says the same.

But it does help to relieve the awkwardness as they stare at each other, and they end up laughing together, at how they seem to have the  _ same  _ timing. Woojin feels the weight of  _ ahjumma’ _ s smile on his back, but he brushes the thought away to focus on what Jihoon wants to say instead.

  
  
  
  
  


That night, he discovers that Jihoon loved pottery ever since his uncle introduced it to him when he was a child. There was something about molding, about letting clay take shape that touched young Jihoon’s heart, and it made him so passionate about pottery that he’s pursuing it today.

Jihoon also finds out about how Woojin had always loved to dance, but he ended up being a Mathematics major after his parents had insisted that he take a  _ safer  _ route. “You can’t make a living out of dance,” Woojin remembers his mother saying. He had swallowed the words of defiance as he scratched out the career choices of being a dancer out of his Career Options Form.

It isn’t the first time that he’s eaten at  _ ahjumma _ ’s restaurant, but it’s the first time that he’s left the restaurant with a full stomach and heart.

 

— 

 

> **Jihoon:** i wish i was a science major

It’s 2am in the morning, also known as the time of the day where Park Woojin should be in bed but he’s still awake because Daehwi had dragged him out to watch Murder on the Orient Express. So he’s still on the way home, Daehwi by his side as he texts his boyfriend, Jinyoung, of his thoughts on the movie.

> **Woojin:** what
> 
> **Jihoon:** don’t you ever feel sad for penguins
> 
> **Jihoon:** they don’t know how it’s like to fly even though they have wings
> 
> **Woojin:** chickens can’t fly too
> 
> **Woojin:** but you say that chicken wings are your favourite dish
> 
> **Jihoon:** hush
> 
> **Jihoon:** i wish i was a science major
> 
> **Jihoon:** so i could build wings for them to experience flight

“What are you smiling at, hyung?” Daehwi questions from his side, and Woojin pockets his phone too quickly. He knows that Daehwi likes teasing him, so he doesn’t quite want Daehwi to see the messages that he has with Jihoon.

“Nothing,” Woojin says. He tries not to wince at how defensive that came out. So he tries to remedy it, “I’m just talking to Jihoon.”

“Jihoon-hyung, huh,” Daehwi remarks. There’s a look in his gaze: one that reminds him of how Daehwi had looked at Youngmin-hyung before Youngmin-hyung and Donghyun-hyung looked together. And it makes his stomach churn.

“Don’t give me that look,” Woojin sighs. He feels the constant vibration of his phone, and he thinks that he can predict Jihoon’s  _ hey :(, why aren’t you replying me, THINK ABOUT THE PENGUINS!!!!!!  _ “We’re just  _ friends. _ ”

“Friends,” Daehwi reiterates. “ _ Sure _ .”

Woojin squints at him. “But we are just friends.”

“I’m not quite sure if friends will spam your inbox like how Jihoon-hyung does,” Daehwi nods towards Woojin’s pant pocket. “You should answer him though. It almost sounds like you have a vibrator up your ass or something.”

“What the fuck,” Woojin deadpans. “How does a vibrator even sound the same as a phone.”

Daehwi shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t know! I’m just saying that you should reply Jihoon-hyung.”

Woojin huffs, but he does take out his phone anyway.

> **Jihoon:** woojin
> 
> **Jihoon:** THINK ABOUT THE PENGUINS!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> **Jihoon:** hey…….
> 
> **Jihoon:** why aren’t you replying me
> 
> **Jihoon:** did i do something wrong
> 
> **Jihoon:** woojinnie :(
> 
> **Jihoon:** please talk to me…………

If Woojin were to be honest, he would have thought that the sender of these messages were deadass annoying and he’d have muted them in an instant. But it’s Jihoon, and Woojin can picture the way he’s sitting in his bed, blankets covering him and pouting when Wooin doesn’t reply. And Woojin can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth as he replies:

> **Woojin:** hey
> 
> **Jihoon:** !!!!!!!!!!
> 
> **Woojin:** i’m not angry at you or anything
> 
> **Jihoon:** really???
> 
> **Woojin:** yeah
> 
> **Woojin:** i’m just going home with daehwi rn cuz we just caught a movie
> 
> **Woojin:** and i was kinda busy talking to him
> 
> **Jihoon:** oh!!!!!!!
> 
> **Jihoon:** what did you catch!! :D
> 
> **Woojin:** murder on the orient express
> 
> **Jihoon:** oh
> 
> **Jihoon:** i wanted to watch that too

“He sounds like he’s jealous,” Daehwi pipes in, and Woojin jerks back slightly when he sees Daehwi peering over his shoulder.

“God, do you  _ not  _ know what’s privacy?” 

“I thought that you’d need my help,” Daehwi says with a shrug. “He sounds like he wanted to watch the movie with you.”

Woojin swallows the lump that’s beginning to form in his throat. Now that he thinks about it, he vaguely remembers hearing Jihoon wanting to catch an upcoming movie in the theaters, but Woojin had never prodded. And Jihoon  _ does  _ sound like he wanted to watch a movie with him.

“What do I do then,” Woojin mumbles.

The thing about human relationships is that there are so many complexities and variables that go with it. Feelings are a constant that Woojin can’t grasp a hold on. It isn’t like the math problems that he’s so used to, where there’s a fixed way of going about doing things and being able to arrive at a common answer. Feelings are complicated, and they have their own way of going about to reach the final answer and it’s what that deters Woojin from wanting to think, from wanting to do beyond what he’s comfortable with, because it’s hard for him to deviate from the norm.

It’s Daehwi’s hand on his that grounds him back to reality, and it’s easy and comfortable, a constant warmth that Woojin’s familiar with. When Woojin looks into Daehwi’s eyes, he sees the sincerity, “Do something about it. Ask him out. Watch a movie together.”

“But I’m sure that Jihoon-hyung would be happy, as long as you’re the one who’s with him.”

 

— 

 

> **Woojin:** wanna watch coco together?
> 
> **Jihoon:** ……..
> 
> **Jihoon:** it’s going to make me cry I Can Smell It
> 
> **Woojin:** is that a no
> 
> **Jihoon:** 2pm on friday

  
  
  
  
  


“You’re late!’ Jihoon huffs as Woojin jogs up to him.

He really didn’t mean to be late, but his professor had droned on and on, and Woojin couldn’t pull himself away from the content, considering that it  _ was  _ important for him to know about the equation. He presses his palms together, and closing his eyes shut, “Sorry. I really am.”

“You’re buying the popcorn,” JIhoon says simply, tapping at Woojin’s shoulder to let him know that he didn’t have to continue to be in his position.

When Woojin opens his eyes, Jihoon waves a pair of tickets in front of him. “I’ve already got us the tickets for the movie.”

“Oh,” Woojin blinks. “Sure, I can get the drinks and popcorn. Salted or sweet?”

“This is an important question,” Jihoon purses his lips together. “It’s the very  _ make or break a friendship  _ kind of question, isn’t it?”

Woojin tries to stifle his laughter as they walk down to the food counters. It’s slightly crowded and their movie’s starting soon, but there are always advertisements that play before the movie actually starts anyway. Daehwi always liked his popcorn sweet. But they are still friends even after all these years of getting mixed popcorn.

“But I like mine salted,” Jihoon grins at him. 

“Guess we’re staying as friends,” Woojin grins back at him.

Jihoon nods in approval. They manage to get their salted popcorn a few moments later, and they settle into their seats inside the theater. It’s cosy and warm, and there aren’t many people in the cinema, considering it’s a Friday  _ and  _ it’s a Disney movie.

Jihoon had pushed the divider that separated them so that they could slot the popcorn box in between them, so it’s easy for either of them to shove their hands for popcorn. But Woojin finds it hard to reach out for the popcorn, drinking his cup of Coke instead as the thought of brushing fingers against Jihoon’s own haunts him.

“You’re not eating popcorn?” Jihoon whispers as the movie starts.

“Um,” Woojin blinks. “I will.”

He digs his hand into the box for emphasis, and the salt from the popcorn dissolves easily against the tip of his tongue. Popcorn is addictive, and Woojin finds himself reaching out for more, and it’s a few more minutes later, when what he fears happens—as he and Jihoon’s hand brush against each other’s awkwardly. 

“Oh,” Woojin retracts his hand quickly. “Please go ahead.”

Jihoon doesn’t reply. His eyes are trained on the movie that’s showing in front of them. Woojin wonders if this is what is means to be trapped in the awkward tension of liking someone, of having a crush on someone because they are sitting right next to each other, but Woojin finds himself wanting to either bridge the distance by placing his hand on top of Jihoon’s, or by running away, to take the seat furthest away from Jihoon.

He swallows the lump that he never quite realised was growing within him, and he tries his best to focus on the movie.

  
  
  
  
  


“That was  _ great _ ,” Jihoon says as they are climbing down the steps to get to the exit of the cinema hall.

Woojin doesn’t want to admit that he actually cried while watching the movie. But when he looked at Jihoon from the corner of his eyes, he saw the way the tears welled up in the eyes, and the way the lights from the projected screen shone in his eyes—and Woojin thinks that he’s never seen anyone who cried, but still managed to look as beautiful as Park Jihoon did. 

He’s still dabbing at the corners of his eyes, where the residual dried tear tracks laid and he says, “It was.”

“I can’t believe you cried,” Jihoon teases him.

Woojin only rolls his eyes. “Says the one whose eyes are currently red rimmed.”

“Shush,” Jihoon puts his finger to his lips. 

“Do you want to grab something to eat before we head back to school?” Woojin suggests, after he looks down at his watch. It’s slightly past four, and Jihoon  _ still  _ has parts of the painting to be done. Woojin knows Jihoon well enough by now, knows that he isn’t the type to eat unless someone actually  _ does  _ bring him food.

Jihoon scratches at the back of his head, “Sure. What do you want to get?”

Normally, Woojin would have opted for whatever option that was the fastest and cheapest. But it’s Jihoon who’s standing right next to him now, and fast food isn’t an option. He wants Jihoon to get all the nutrients that he needs, even if it makes Woojin feel like he’s a mom.

Jihoon huffs, but he doesn’t say anything to deny it, knowing that it’s the truth. “How about a sandwich or something?”

Woojin squints him. “As long as you’re with me, you’re going to be eating  _ proper  _ food. No sandwiches, no fast food. Okay, how about Chinese then?”

Jihoon pouts as he mumbles, “But I wanted to eat a sandwich…”

Woojin almost feels bad that he’s forcing Jihoon to eat Chinese food, when the boy said that he wanted a sandwich. But he thinks of the hours that they will be spending together in the studio, of inhaling paint fumes and Woojin watching Jihoon work, he thinks that they  _ still _ need proper food, like carbohydrates and calories. 

So he insists on Chinese food, and they head to a restaurant down the street of their college to grab some  _ jjajjangmyeon  _ and  _ jjambong _ . Woojin finds out that Jihoon likes them mixed too, and that they have  _ so many  _ similarities between them, really.

  
  
  
  


They finish up within the next few hours. Woojin can guess that the artwork is coming along well, judging from the splotches of colours that are on the painting now and the way Jihoon lets out satisfied hums every now and then. He still can’t quite see himself in the painting, but he finds himself beginning to better appreciate what  _ abstract art  _ is. 

“I’m so tired,” Jihoon mumbles as he stretches. “But I’m going to be done soon.”

“Really?” Woojin walks over so that he can take a look at the painting, but Jihoon’s quick to block the board from Woojin’s vision. 

“You’re banned from seeing this until I’m done,” Jihoon explains, eyebrows furrowed as if he can’t make up his mind. But he nods to himself when he decides that it’s what he wants to say. 

“What,  _ why _ ,” Woojin deadpans. Is there a  _ really  _ need to stop him from seeing the painting?

“Hm,” Jihoon muses, looking up and looking past Woojin. “I just feel that it’d be different if you were to take a look at it now, so  _ no, _ no looking until I’m done!”

Woojin’s still confused with Jihoon’s reply, but he scratches at the side of his face and nods. “Okay, okay.”

Jihoon beams. It’s a little awkward after as Woojin wonders if he should leave, or do anything. They have already found themselves in their own rhythm, of Friday paintings and dinner afterwards. But they’d just watched a movie together a while before, even had an early dinner and Woojin isn’t quite sure of what he should do. 

And then, Jihoon’s pushing him away, so that his back is facing the easel. He blinks at Jihoon’s forcefulness, slightly surprised at how his small figure could have so much strength inside. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Jihoon replies, but Woojin can hear the tinge of excitement in his voice and the shuffling of furniture, and it makes him painfully curious. 

“Okay, you can turn back now.”

When Woojin turns back, Jihoon had turned the easel away so that Woojin can’t see it. Jihoon’s hands are behind his back, and there’s a bright smile adorned on his face. It’s so fucking bright that Woojin thinks that it really does resemble the sun, and all the good things that come together with the breaking of dawn and the streaming in of sunlight. 

“I made something for you,” Jihoon says, a faint pink dusting his cheeks, looking awfully bashful.

Woojin feels his heart skip a beat, as Jihoon brings his hands forward. Woojin brings his own hands out, so that he can take whatever Jihoon means to give it to him, and he tries not to focus on the way their hands brush against each other and sweeps the thought of wanting to hold Jihoon’s hand away to the back of his mind.

When Jihoon opens his hands, it reveals a small clay trinket that has a keychain attached to it. It’s of a little sparrow, and Woojin blinks when Jihoon places it on his palm.

“What’s this for?”

“Well,” Jihoon retracts his hands, and he shifts nervously between his feet. He isn’t looking at Woojin, but Woojin can feel the tension in the air. “I got hands on some really good clay and I thought that I could make you something… In return for, well, agreeing to be my model.”

Woojin blinks. “But why a sparrow?”

“I guess, you look like a sparrow to me?” Jihoon laughs softly, and he scratches the side of his face.

It sounds like neither a compliment nor an insult, and Woojin isn’t quite sure how he should take it. But he brings the sparrow trinket higher up so it’s eye level with him. He sees the smooth clay and pictures Jihoon crouching down, spending hours to refine it and to mold it into the shape that it takes. And it makes Woojin’s heart grow warm in affection, at that very thought of Jihoon spending hours on him to perfect the trinket.

“Thank you,” Woojin nods, cradling the trinket in his hands. “I really like it.”

He hopes that the sincerity seeps into his voice, and it probably does, from the way Jihoon returns his smile.

 

—

 

> **Jihoon:** do you ever realise that 
> 
> **Woojin:** realise what
> 
> **Jihoon:** maple syrup is like 
> 
> **Jihoon:** tree blood
> 
> **Woojin:** tf
> 
> **Woojin:** trees don’t have veins?????
> 
> **Jihoon:** i’M JUST SAYING
> 
> **Woojin:** evidently, you need sleep pLS SLEEP
> 
> **Jihoon:** i can’t
> 
> **Jihoon:** i still have one last painting to do and it’s due in like two days 
> 
> **Woojin:** wtf why didn’t you start it earlier
> 
> **Jihoon:** my dear, inspiration is a Fickle Bitch

It’s 1 in the morning, and Woojin is already nestled in his bed. His blankets are up to his chin, and it’s really pretty damn warm and comfortable. But there’s something about Jihoon being alone in the chilly studio as he works on his painting that stabs at Woojin’s bleeding heart. 

If he thinks about it, he has never quite seen Jihoon with anyone else. Admittedly, he doesn’t know much about Jihoon apart from what he finds out on Fridays, and whatever information that Jihoon decides to divulge to him, but he has never heard of Jihoon having another arrangements with his friends.

He wonders if anyone else knows the Jihoon that he knows: the one who sends weird ass questions at ass o’ clock, forgets to eat as he gets too engrossed in his art, and the one who spends time and effort into making beautiful trinkets for people he knows.

And Woojin finds himself climbing out of bed, changing into a pair of warm clothes, and grabbing a thick jacket. It’s getting colder after all, as autumn’s coming along and he briefly wonders if he should grab something for Jihoon to wear. The studio gets cold at night. But it feels weird if he were to bring another jacket or something, so he wraps a woolen scarf around himself. Maybe he’ll look weird when he goes out like this, but it’s for Jihoon. And Woojin doesn’t really care.

  
  
  
  
  


For the first time, Minhyun-hyung isn’t at Starbucks when Woojin’s there.

Sungwoon-hyung’s working the graveyard shift today, and he smiles when Woojin walks through the door. As expected, it’s pretty empty for 1am, except for the occasional student who’s busy finishing up their papers. 

He walks up to the counter, and Sungwoon-hyung grins at him, “So what would you like today?”

Woojin knows Jihoon’s order by now, from the times that they’ve spent at the studio and came out for coffee breaks together. But Woojin thinks that caffeine’s probably a bad idea at this time of the day, so he settles for, “Could I get two regular hot chocolates?”

“Two, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Woojin blinks, reaching out for his wallet. “Oh, could I also grab a ham and cheese sandwich to go?”

Sungwoon-hyung wriggles his eyebrows as he keys in the order into register. “At 1am,  _ wow.  _ Must be  nice to be young.”

Woojin rolls his eyes. “Sungwoon-hyung, you have Taehyun-hyung. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Sungwoon-hyung only laughs and he takes the cash from Woojin’s hands. “I’m just teasing you.”

Woojin sighs and Sungwoon-hyung’s off to make the hot chocolate and prepare the sandwich. But as he’s waiting for the drinks and the food, he wonders if he’s crossing the lines of friendship. It almost feels like he’s overstepping the boundaries, considering that they have never met each other at this time of the day. Texting is comfortable and constant, but meeting Jihoon at 1am, even without asking Jihoon if he could come over, it makes Woojin worried if he should even be doing this.

“Don’t think too much.”

When Woojin looks at where the voice came from, it’s Sungwoon-hyung who looks at him like how a parent looks at their growing child. He places the two cups of hot chocolate and the sandwich into a paper bag, before he slides it over to where Woojin’s waiting. And Sungwoon-hyung extends his hand to pat Woojin’s shoulder.

“You look like you’ve aged ten years from your own thoughts,” Sungwoon-hyung teases. Then, he’s tightening his grip on Woojin’s shoulder. “Just do it. Take the leap of faith. If you don’t, then nothing’s going to change.”

Woojin takes the paper bag and hangs it over his arm. Sungwoon-hyung’s right, and he knows it. 

He knows what his heart wants, and it’s only a matter of whether he’ll actually do it. 

He takes a deep breath, and nods. “I will, Sungwoon-hyung. Thank you.”

Sungwoon-hyung grins at him, and offers him a double thumbs up. “You can do it!”

Woojin leaves the cafe. It’s cold, and the wind is brushing against his cheeks. But when he turns back to take a final look at the cafe, he feels the courage seeping into his veins.

_ Yeah _ .

He can do it.

  
  
  
  
  


When Woojin enters Studio Room 5-2, it’s dimly lit and fucking cold. He wonders how has Jihoon been surviving in this environment, when Woojin already feels like he wants to get out of here so that he can go back to the comforts of a warm bed. His eyes zoom in onto Jihoon, sitting in the middle of the room, in front of his easel where he’s painting. 

Woojin can’t quite see what Jihoon’s working on, but he sees the lonely silhouette and he tries to swallow the urge to wrap his arms around Jihoon. Instead, he walks over to Jihoon, and he clears his throat to get Jihoon’s attention.

Jihoon jerks back slightly, but he manages to maintain a steady grip on his paintbrush so that it doesn’t trail away from what he’s been working on. He looks like he’s frustrated at being interrupted, but Woojin watches the way Jihoon’s gaze brightens when he recognises that it’s Woojin, and he says, “What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Woojin explains. It was true that he couldn’t sleep. But he could also have chosen to stay in bed. He places the paper bag onto the floor, and he takes out a cup of coffee and the bag that the sandwich sits in. “I got you something.”

“Coffee!” Jihoon’s eyes brighten at the sight of the paper cup. “And sandwiches!”

Woojn rolls his eyes, but he feels his heart fluttering at the sheer happiness that radiates off Jihoon. “No coffee. It’s hot chocolate.”

Jihoon pouts. “I want coffee.”

“It’s 1am,” Woojin deadpans. “So no coffee for you.”

Jihoon deepens his pout, but he’s pressing against the small opening of the cup and he lets out a satisfied hum when the taste of hot chocolate melts against his tongue. Woojin watches him. And Jihoon says, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Woojin nods. 

There’s a gust of chilly wind that comes in from the open windows. When he looks at Jihoon, he sees him jerking back slightly at the cold, and Woojin frowns when he sees the single hoodie that Jihoon’s wearing. Woojin’s thankful that he did bring the scarf for Jihoon, and he unwraps it from his neck so that he can use it to drape over Jihoon.

“What’s this for,” Jihoon blinks at him.

“It’s cold and you’re stupid,” Woojin replies. 

There’s that pretty pink flush that finds its way onto Jihoon’s cheeks (and Woojin is pretty sure that it’s not from the cold) as he wraps the scarf closer around himself. It make him look smaller than he actually is, and Woojin ignores the way his heart is thumping so loudly and quickly against his chest.

“But you’re stupid too,” Jihoon says softly, as he starts to work on the remaining parts of his artwork. “It’s 1am and you should be at home sleeping.”

“Keyword:  _ should _ ,” Woojin replies. He settles for sitting down on one of the empty swivel-ly chairs, leaning back against the chair as he watches Jihoon work.

“You didn’t have to come down, you know,” Jihoon continues. He doesn’t look at Woojin but there’s a tone in Jihoon’s voice that is strangely revealing and raw and it feels like he’s tearing away the protective layers of himself, to show his most innermost feelings to Woojin. He senses the insecurity and the happiness, and he reads the words that are hung up in the air.

“I know,” Woojin acknowledges. “But I wanted to.”

Jihoon turns back from where he’s sitting, and there’s a soft, raw smile that tugs at the sides of his lips. And it makes Woojin feel special, that it’s a side of Jihoon that he feels that Jihoon would only reveal to him because it’s  _ him _ .

“Thank you.”

  
  
  
  
  


Woojin doesn’t remember the moment he actually fell asleep. But when he wakes up, his woollen scarf is wrapped around him and there’s a Starbucks cup that sits on the ground where Jihoon would be seated at. There’s a small paper note that’s lodged underneath the cup, and Woojin’s prompted to take a look at it.

> _ Hey, dummy. _
> 
> _ Thank you for coming over to accompany me over the night. _
> 
> _ I’ve never had anyone else who’d do something like this for me. _
> 
> _ You’re the first.  
>  _ _ And… thank you. _
> 
> _ It really means alot to me. _
> 
> _ I left to hand in my submissions, but I bought you a cup of latte too.  
>  _ _ Hopefully it’s still warm when you’re up! _
> 
> _ Text me when you’re awake, too. _
> 
> _ \- Jihoonie _
> 
>   
>    
> 

When Woojin reaches out for the paper cup, it’s cold.

But his heart feels like it’s on fire.

 

— 

 

Fridays have become his and Jihoon’s day. 

Woojin knows that Jihoon has been steadily finishing up his project of Woojin. His stomach churns at the thought of their usual Fridays coming to an end: no more dinners, no more hours at Studio Room 5-2, no more  _ Jihoon _ . And it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

Admittedly, it could do him good to have those extra hours of studying, considering that finals are nearing, but there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to part with what they have now.

“What are you doing?”

Woojin turns around, to see Daehwi leaning against the doorframe of his room. He had been walking up and down in his room, in hopes that it’d help to quell the churning of his stomach, and the nerves that threatened to swallow him up. It barely helped though, and he lets out a huge sigh.

He knows what his heart wants. He’s well aware of it. But there’s something about vocalising his thoughts that is hard, and Woojin finds it easier to swallow the words, and keep them hidden at the back of his mind. But if he can’t even be honest with Daehwi, who’s been with him for so long in his life, then how is he going to be honest with Jihoon?

He takes a deep breath, and sits down on his bed. He pats the empty space beside him, and Daehwi takes it as his cue to sit down next to Woojin.

“I don’t want whatever I have with Jihoon to end,” Woojin says, looking down at where he had clasped his hands together. His heart is beating rapidly against his chest, at the admission, and it’s only when Daehwi grabs onto his hand that he finds that it begins to still.

“It doesn’t have to end,” Daehwi replies, tightening his grip and interlocking their fingers together. “An end means the beginning of something else.”

“Yeah,” Woojin nods. “But I don’t know how to say the words that I want to say.”

Daehwi chuckles at him. “Don’t we all?”

“Those are some really cute trinkets too,” Daehwi nudges to Woojin’s table. It’s where there’s a growing collection of clay trinkets made by JIhoon: one for every time that they met up. He’s beginning to think that it isn’t so much that Jihoon’s been getting his hands on  _ good clay, _ but rather, he’s making them because he wants to. And it hurts Woojin to look at it, because he gets reminded of Jihoon and his painful affection for him.

“Jihoon made them,” Woojin explains. 

Daehwi gives him a knowing smile as he looks down to gaze at their interlocked hands. “I don’t think anyone would be dedicated enough to make so many trinkets for someone who’s a mere  _ friend _ .”

“I just don’t want to get my hopes up,” Woojin says, voice cracking at the edges.

It isn’t the first time that he’s fallen in love with someone. He remembers liking the girl who sat next to him in middle school. He liked watching the way she brushed her hair behind her ears, the way she laughed softly whenever one of her friends made a crude joke, and the way she tried her best at sports even though she wasn’t quite sports inclined. He remembers how he liked Hyungseob back in high school, the way his smile would seem to light up his entire day, and he’d look forward to going to school just so he’d be able to take a look at that smile.

But there’s something different about the way he thinks of Jihoon: of how he feels like he’d be content just with watching Jihoon concentrate on painting, of how he wants to hold onto Jihoon’s hand for a long time to come, and of how he wants to be together with Jihoon for the rest of his life, through thick and thin.

“That’s the thing about hope, isn’t it?” Daehwi smiles, and there’s a tinge of bitterness in it. “You rely so heavily upon it, but you’re so scared by it.”

“But hyung, nothing’s going to change if you don’t do anything.”

Woojin swallows the lump that’s growing in his throat, and his gaze settles on the sparrow clay trinket that dangles at the side of his backpack.

You don’t mold clay with just your hands, you need the other factors: the urns, the effort, the heat and the heart.

And Woojin thinks it’s about the same when it comes to love: that you can’t quite just expect someone else to reciprocate your feelings if you don’t say anything, if you aren’t the one to take the first step forward to shape the love.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Woojin breathes. His heart is beating quickly against his chest. But this time, it isn’t from the anxiety or the nerves, but he thinks that it’s from the adrenaline, of the anticipation of what’s about to come. “I can do it.”

“You can,” Daehwi releases his grip on Woojin’s hand so that he can envelop Woojin into a tight hug. “You can do it, hyung.”

Woojin returns the hug, and he steps out of his bed to grab his backpack, to detach the sparrow trinket. He clutches it tight in his hand. “Yeah. I can do it.”

 

— 

 

When Woojin gets to Studio Room 5-2, with two cups of coffee in hand, he gets greeted with a sight that he doesn’t ever expect to see.

Woojin could feel the tension emanating from the room itself, and when he opens the door, the entire studio is a fucking mess. There are paint buckets that are strewn all over, and it looks like they’ve been toppled over and everything that’s inside of it is threatening to make its mark on the floors. Jihoon’s in the middle of the room, where he usually is, but instead of the usual look of concentration, his hair is astrew and Woojin can feel the panic and nerves that are radiating off him.

He places the drinks at the corner before he dashes up to Jihoon. He feels the hesitation creep up on him. Is it even his place to say something about whatever’s happening? He doesn’t even know what’s happening!

But  _ fuck it. _

“Hey,” Woojin places his hand on top of Jihoon’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Jihoon jolts up straight to look at Woojin. He sees the dried up tear tracks, and also the wetness of his eyes. It isn’t the same as when he had cried over Coco. Woojin can sense the anxiety in the tears, and from the way Jihoon clutches on Woojin’s arms like as if there isn’t anything else in the world that’s here for him. And Jihoon feels so fucking vulnerable.

“Woojinnie…”

A part of him reminds him of how Jihoon had jerked away from him the first time he reached out for him. But time has passed and they have changed since the time they first met, so Woojin opts for reaching an arm out to wrap around Jihoon’s shoulders, so he can envelop him in a hug, and so that he can stroke down the width of Jihoon’s back as Woojin lets him cry on his shoulder.

“It’ll be alright,” Woojin murmurs, never ceasing in the movement of stroking Jihoon’s back. 

Jihoon sniffs and Woojin feels the wetness grow on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what to say and he can only hope that his presence alone helps to provide the comfort that Jihoon needs. And perhaps, it does, because Jihoon cries, and cries. 

And it’s only minutes later that Jihoon pulls away, hands dabbing at the residual tears that have collected at the sides of his eyes. Woojin wishes that he could hold Jihoon for a moment longer, wishes that he could tangle his hands into Jihoon’s hair and continue to reassure him that it’ll be alright (even though he still doesn’t know what happened.) 

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon starts with a loud sigh. He’s looking down as he plays with his fingers. It’s vaguely distracting. 

“Why?”

Jihoon sighs again. This time, he looks up to meet Woojin’s gaze but when he does, he looks like he’s on the verge of crying from the amount of stress that seems to overload his tiny body. Woojin can see the way his hands are shaking, and he’s tempted to reach out to hold onto his hand. 

He does. And judging from the way Jihoon takes a deep breath and how Woojin can feel the tremours beneath him come to a constant slow, he thinks that it probably did help.

“I ruined my project."

“What?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon looks down, and it makes him look smaller than he actually is. “I accidentally spilled glue over my painting. Of you.”

To be frank, Woojin isn’t quite sure of what happens when something like that happens. But he tries to think of it in a rational manner, and maybe… Just maybe, he could serve as a rational voice or something. “Can you fix it?”

“I guess,” Jihoon mumbles. “I could try to paint over it when it dries… But it’s not going to be the same as how it’s supposed to turn out… I can’t fucking believe that this happens when I have my muse...?”

_ Muse?  _ What.

But as soon as the words slip out, Jihoon covers his mouth instantly and his face flushes a bright tomato red. “Please ignore what I said at the end.”

Woojin wants to laugh at that, wants to tell him that there’s no way he’s forgetting about it but he knows that there are more pressing issues at hand that he needs to focus on: like actually fixing Jihoon’s problem.

“But you can do it right?” Woojin says, adding a tad more strength and steeliness to his voice.

Jihoon nods.

“Then, you can,” Woojin smiles. “I’ll be here for you until you’re done with it.”

Jihoon blinks at him once, twice. He looks like he’s in genuine disbelief at what Woojin had just said, and Woojin tightens his grip on Jihoon’s hand.

“I promise. I’ll be here until your project’s an OK.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

"But why?  _ Why  _ would you go so far just to help me?”

It’s easy to say the words that have been stuck at the back of Woojin’s throat. But there’s something about the moment that pulls him back, that makes him take the steps backward as it almost feels like he’s taking advantage of Jihoon’s weakness at the moment. So Woojin tries to think of something else that he could say, something more nuanced and neutral but yet, is what he wants to say.

“Because it’s you,” is what he decides on. 

If Jihoon wants to say anything, it remains stuck in his throat as well, because Woojin watches the way he flushes pink but he nods, and pulls away from where their hands are interlocked in a tight grip so that he can place his board back on his easel.

Woojin gets the hint, and he gets to his position in front of Jihoon.

 

—

 

It takes several more days at the studio before Jihoon manages to finish his painting. 

It almost feels like Woojin should already be sick of Studio Room 5-2 by now, but it almost feels like a second home to him, from the amount of time that he’s been spending in the room, breathing in the toxic paint fumes. But it’s probably because Jihoon’s here, that it makes Woojin want to continue being in the same space. 

“I’m done!” Jihoon beams when he finishes the final stroke of the painting, and Woojin wishes that he had a camera in his hand so that he’d be able to capture the beautiful moment. But he doesn’t, and he decides to place his trust in his memories instead.

Woojin cheers along with Jihoon as he walks to Jihoon’s side, so that he gets to see the painting that they’ve spent so many hours and days on. It’s been awhile since he’s been able to see it, ever since Jihoon had banned him from seeing his progress. 

It does look better than the outline, after the colours and shades have been added in. Woojin sees the uneven edges, of where the glue had probably struck, but there’s something intimate in the painting that reveals more about Jihoon’s heart than it was probably intended: from the way Woojin’s eyes soften at the corner, the way his snaggletooth peeks out with the smile, and the way Woojin’s gaze looks like he’s looking at the only person who matters in his life.

It isn’t wrong, as per say, but Woojin turns to look at Jihoon. He’s scratching at the back of his head, a bashful expression. “Does it look okay?”

“It looks better than just  _ okay, _ ” Woojin replies. “It looks like the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

It’s only when the words have escaped that Woojin realises how disgustingly vain that must have sounded, and it makes a similar flush make its way on his face as well. Jihoon snorts at that, “What self-praise.”

“But really,” Woojin chooses to ignore Jihoon’s comment. “It’s really lovely. I can see the effort that you’ve put into this. And if you didn’t tell me, I wouldn’t be able to tell that you’re a pottery major.”

“Thanks.”

There’s a strange sense of awkwardness that wraps around them, as neither of them do anything but remain in their positions, standing and facing each other. Woojin watches the way Jihoon shfits on his feet nervously, and he begins to feel the weight of unsaid words hanging in the air. He wonders if it’s time for him to say what has been stuck within him all this while, and he reaches into his jean pocket, where the sparrow trinket has been sitting in, in hopes that it helps to give him that burst of courage that he never had.

“Jihoon, I have something that I want to say.”

Jihoon blinks rapidly. “Yes?”

“I…”

It’s always easier to imagine himself saying the words than to actually vocalise them. Woojin can feel the way his heart is pounding so hard and harsh against his chest and it almost feels like the only reason why his heart hasn’t leaped out of his throat is because of his ribcage holding it back in. He takes another deep breath, closing his eyes for a second before he says:

“I really like you, Park Jihoon.”

“I don’t know if I sound crazy to you or anything, but I really like yo—” 

“Me too.”

Woojin blinks as Jihoon’s voice reaches his ears. When he looks at Jihoon, Jihoon’s looking straight into his eyes. Despite the soft pink flush that dusts his cheek, he sees the genuineness and the sincerity of his words, and Woojin doesn’t quite know what to do next.

Awkward silence washes upon them once again as neither of them know what to do next. They are now both aware of their feelings for each other, but as neither of them say anything, Woojin finds himself bursting into laughter, and Jihoon follows suit.

When their laughter dies down, Jihoon’s the first to say, “You’re stupid.”

Woojin squints at him and he finds himself reaching out to cup Jihoon’s face in his palms, squishing his cheeks together. “You’re stupid too.”

Jihoon glares at him, and he does the same to Woojin. He reaches out to squish Woojin’s cheeks together in his palms. It’s hard for Woojin and Jihoon to say anything after, as it’s hard for the words to escape their mouth but there’s just something so  _ them _ about the moment that Woojin wants it to always remain this way.

They do let go after several more heartbeats, and Woojin’s the one to press his lips against Jihoon’s own.

 

— 

 

“I don’t care,” Jihoon huffs, throwing a sweater onto Woojin’s face, where he’s sitting on _ their  _ bed, in their shared apartment. “You’re coming along with me whether you like it or not.”

Woojin sighs, as he takes the sweater off to place it by his side. “But  _ babe _ , I don’t know much about the arts.”

Jihoon turns back to glare at him as he decides between the various coats that they have. “You’re dating an arts major.”

That’s true. So Woojin pulls his shirt off to put on the sweater that Jihoon had picked out for him. Jihoon had chosen the jacket that he’d wanted Woojin to wear, and he takes it out of the hanger before he notions for Woojin to come closer, so that he can put it on for Woojin.

“Alright, alright, let’s go.”

  
  
  
  
  


Woojin should have seen it coming, really.

> **_Park Jihoon’s First Art Show  
>  _ ** _ For: Invited Guests Only _

“You didn’t tell me that you were going to have an exhibition, babe,” Woojin squints at Jihoon, tugging on their interlocked hands to grab his attention. 

Jihoon just hums and he looks  _ too  _ innocent, considering how Woojin had slowly gotten used to his tiny schemes of evil. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well, it worked all right,” Woojin sighs. He’d really have loved if Jihoon had told him about the exhibition at the start, so that he’d be able to hold onto Jihoon’s hand as he embarked on such an important chapter of his life, even though surprises  _ are  _ nice. 

When they enter the building, it’s the gust of dry, cool air that greets him first and it forces him to close his eyes. But when Woojin opens it, he senses Jihoon’s hand tightening around his hand, and before he can turn around to ask Jihoon what’s wrong, a painting comes into his line of vision.

God.

He’s so fucking cheesy.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Woojin exclaims.

“I did,” Jihoon exhales loudly as they make their way to the main painting of the exhibition.

It’s that damn painting that brought them together, that tied them to where they are today through paint fumes, sticky glue and lukewarm coffee. Woojin can’t help the smile from finding its way up onto his face as he feels the tears welling up in his eyes, at the realisation of how far they had come. He tightens his grip of Jihoon’s hand, as if they could get any closer, and he walks closer so that he can read the title of the painting.

> _ Muse (2017) _

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m your favourite, you mean.”

“I can’t believe you really put this up. You’re a fake pottery major.”

“I’ve got to let people believe that love  _ does  _ exist.”

Woojin laughs and it makes Jihoon laugh too.

Yeah.

This is love, alright.


End file.
